Snap
by Syrae
Summary: Everybody has a breaking point. Even Harmon Rabb Jr.
1. Chapter 1

It's dark and heavy and angsty, and I woke up with this in my head. Wouldn't go anywhere until it was on paper.

* * *

Invincible. To any outsider he always seemed invincible. More lives than a cat, and at least two guardian angels on each shoulder. He could take risks flying, he could fire an AK-47 in an open court room, he could outsmart terrorists, murderers, survive torture in a Chinese prison and step on a landmine and walk away with barely a scratch.

Some of it was luck. Some of it was brutal strength. Other times thinking on his feet. A lot of those times, it was a dispassionate plan. It was always about being in control.

He'd learned to be in control. Once his father went missing, he felt something inside him shift, and he needed to be strong. Strong for his mother, strong for his dad, because it was his job now to look after his mother until he was back.

_Boys don't cry. _How many times hadn't he heard that? _You need to be strong for your mother, son. _Instinctively, he'd known he'd better heed that advice, even though he'd wanted nothing more than to scream and cry and beg the universe for his dad back.

The holding in had become custom. He needed to be strong. He needed to keep his emotions under control because there was little use for them. Not in a cockpit, flying ten thousand feet above the earth, not in a courtroom where he needed to convince a jury. Emotions made you vulnerable, and the last thing he needed was to be vulnerable.

So he bit back on his emotions, control executed with perfection, because that was what he did. No tears. The three times she had seen him cry he'd given himself hell over, but it was what it was.

He held on to the same control when he needed to kill the terrorists, unstrap her from the table she was bound to, and make sure they got the hell out of there. Destroying the Stingers brought some sense of accomplishment, but crashing the plane made him feel the control he was so desperately trying to hold onto, slip through his fingers.

It hadn't stopped. He'd needed a few moments to catch his breath, just to realize that he'd done it and she was safe. Before he had the chance to wrap his brain around it, she'd demanded more answers than he could give her and the situation had spiraled even more in the opposite direction. He was on a roller coaster he couldn't stop. He couldn't punch out and there was no emergency break that he could pull on.

Even now, a few days later, standing in what used to be his office, he was looking through a fog. His heart was beating a mile a minute, his hands were clam, his mouth felt full of cotton balls. It took the last of his long-perfected need for control not to let go and scream. This was all unfair.

He'd laid it on the line, he'd given up everything to come and save her, trying to table a conversation that he knew was only going to make things worse when neither of them could think straight, and now the Admiral was punishing him for _not _breaking the code that he claimed to live by.

_Never leave a man behind. _

She'd told him _never. _She hadn't even told him _no. _She had told him _never_. If him giving up the Navy hadn't been the ultimate act of selflessness, of his love for her, he didn't know what it would take to make her see that.

His heart started beating even faster and he tried to swallow. He controlled his reaction to his discharge, biting down on the remarks bubbling up in his throat, the disappointment in his Commanding Officer, sorry, _former_ Commanding Officer, carefully veiled. He could do this. He could hold on to that last sliver of control and not let them see how it affected him.

Harriet looked up at him with apprehension, her blue eyes filled with tears. "Sir…"

"It's all right, Lieutenant." He wrapped an arm around her in a brief hug and kissed her cheek. "Be happy, Harriet."

Jennifer struggled for control as much as he did, but where he had learned to conceal it behind his perfected mask of indifference, hers was clearly visible on her face. "Commander…"

Squaring his shoulders with much more bravado than he felt, he shook his head. "Chin up, Petty Officer." Then softly: "You should be proud of yourself, Jen. I know I am."

A single tear slipped down her cheek and she nodded, swallowing hard. "Aye, sir. Thank you, sir."

He nodded to Bud, then stole a last glance in the direction of her office. Did she feel like everything that had happened in the past few weeks was beyond their control, too? Had the lashing out she'd given him more to do with her struggle to make sense of all of this, just as much as he was? He didn't know. All he knew that he wanted her to be okay. It all came down to this, didn't it?

"Please be happy, Sarah," he whispered to no one in particular. God knew she deserved to be.

He still clung to his control leaving the building, into his car, back to his apartment. The little red light of his answering machine blinked, but he ignored it. Whoever it was, they wouldn't need him. Both the Admiral and Mac had made it crystal clear. He wasn't wanted. Not his presence, not his loyalty, not his friendship, nor his love.

He'd been strong for everyone else, whenever they needed it. He'd always get everybody out and make sure they were all okay, because that was his role in life. They could all lean on him, because when he was there, everything was going to be okay.

All he had wanted was for her to be safe. That was the only thing this expedition had been about. The way they'd had to handle it was unorthodox at best, but it was how things went. Especially when Webb was involved. Even her dispassionate plans had a way of not being enough in situations like these, so they had to improvise. He wasn't sure who he hated more at this point: the Admiral for breaking the SEAL code, or Webb for not thinking the mission through and providing decent back up. Or had Webb figured he'd come crashing through the door anyway, because that was what he'd always done?

The water he tried to swallow had trouble going down, and the only reason his hand wasn't shaking was because he willed it not to. Just as he willed his heart to slow down, pushed down on the hyperventilating he felt simmering. Not yet.

The iron grip on his emotions had gotten him through the toughest of times before. He could do it again. Start again. He needed to think ahead.

She had told him once he needed to let go before this control of his became a noose he could no longer untie. But his control was all he had. Today had made that abundantly clear.

He didn't give himself time to think it through. Going into the bedroom, he got rid of his suit in favor of jeans and a T-shirt and packed a bag. In fact, packed up half his apartment, stored everything in his Lexus and went on his way.

The drive gave him something to focus on, other than his troubled breathing, pumping heartbeat and the never ending cycle of reruns of the South American debacle in his head. He could pretend for a little while this was only a trip; he'd be back in DC and back at JAG after the weekend. He hadn't said goodbye to her forever. It was only for a little while.

They both needed time to think about what had happened, time to come to grips with it. That was it. He hadn't lost her forever yet.

Sarah Rabb looked up out of the kitchen window when she heard a car pull into the driveway. She recognized it from earlier visits and frowned. What was he doing here in the middle of the week?

Stranger still, he killed the engine but didn't get out of the car. Throwing her dish towel on the counter, she slowly made her way to the front porch.

She couldn't see his face when he finally made it out of the vehicle, but she knew her grandson well enough to know something was seriously wrong. His shoulders slumped, his steps slow, heavy, as if putting one foot in front of the other took every grain of energy he had left. Maybe it did.

When his face finally came into view, she pressed her lips together and felt a shiver run up her spine. Unfortunately, she recognized the emotions in his eyes, too.

He willed himself to take the first step up the porch, but when he saw the expression on her face and the concern in her eyes, something in him snapped. His breathing became ragged, and he gulped for air. His legs gave out from under him, leaving him on his knees at the edge of the porch, trembling, grasping for something to hold on to. A first tear slipped down his cheek and the control he'd fought so hard to keep, vanished into thin air.

When it did, he finally let go.


	2. Chapter 2

_Okay, so I wasn't going to expand on this. But you made my day with all those lovely reviews, so then this popped up. Mac's POV, not Harm's, because there was so much left unsaid and unexplored after South-America. And I promise there will be a happy ending somewhere._

* * *

Breathe. She had to remind herself to breathe.

What the hell had just happened? Where had Harm gone? She shook her head to clear the fog that gripped the edges of her mind, but the movement only seemed to increase the blurriness.

She'd been trying to focus ever since he'd unbound her from the table in the shack she was sure she'd never consciously leave again. No matter what she did, she couldn't focus. Her head was swimming, her heart hammered in her chest, and she'd been fighting off a full-fledged panic attack since he'd set her on her feet again.

She tried to remember what they'd said to each other since, but the only thing she was able to decipher was the feeling they'd been bickering, arguing even, and Harm was on edge around her. Well, the mission had been blown to hell and the fact he had to come and rescue them was not something she wanted to take for granted, but she couldn't concentrate long enough on what she was doing. Or thinking. Or saying. Was that why he'd been on edge?

Her eyes locked on his dark, empty office and snippets of the earlier scene in the Admiral's office came back.

_Sir, he saved my life… Put him on your payroll! You're not a team player, Rabb. You've been a civilian for the last 72 hours. _

Wait, what? She blinked, felt her heartbeat increase again. There was something lurking in the far corner of her mind. Gunny making an offhanded comment about Harm resigning his commission to come and find them. Her and Webb. Why had she been sent with Webb again? Why hadn't Harm been there in the first place?

The Admiral had processed his resignation. That was what had happened. Her eyes grew wide, nausea rising in her throat, and the panic attack she'd been trying to suppress for days grew more insistent.

The Singer mess. There was something… He'd been accused of murdering Lt. Singer and her baby. He… She fought for control over her breathing, searching for clues so she could figure out what had happened before she went TAD to the CIA. She'd gone to see Harm before she left with Webb. Why?

She hadn't seen him in a few weeks. The Admiral had ordered them to stay away. Harm had… Harm had been convinced the Lieutenant carried Sergei's baby. And of course he hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Not even her. Because his protective instinct acted up, because he needed to be in control of what he found before his emotions got the best of him. She'd wanted to make sure he was okay.

Another attempt to breathe, although somebody was trying to squeeze her throat shut. _Details, Mac. What made Harm come after you? _

There was a meeting with the terrorist. The weight from her pregnancy suit and the bumps in the road had made her cranky. She always preferred Harm's company over Webb's, because Harm knew how to make her laugh and she felt safe with him. He'd have her back. She'd complained about the road.

Then, on the way back, they'd been ambushed. Gunfire. She remembered gunfire. And waking up in a place she didn't recognize.

_Breathe. Keep breathing. Focus. What else do you remember? _

They must've missed a check-in. How long had they been there? The missionaries! They'd been there long enough for the woman to find out her pregnancy was fake. So maybe they'd missed more than one check-in.

Her hands were trembling, she pressed her lips together and inhaled through her nose. Harm knew. _I always know where you are. _

The Admiral was probably pissed at him, still, about the mess he'd worked himself into. But to give up his commission to come and find her?

_There was no choice. _It screamed at her from the edges of her blurred mind. The Admiral hadn't given him a choice. Harm would always come and get her, as she would him. Butch and Sundance. Batman and Robin.

She gripped the top of her desk. What wasn't she remembering? Hadn't she expected to see him? She had. She had wished for his face to show, for him to take control of the situation and get them out of there, back to safety. Because that was what Harm did. Together they always found a way to make it happen. Overthrow a terrorist take-over in a hospital. Get a stalker out of the way. Keep her uncle out of prison. Hell, they found killers after thirty years, half a world away.

Then why the panic? Why the unease? The desperation?

She'd gotten her wish. He had shown up in the nick of time, taking control in typical Harm-fashion and he'd gotten them out. She'd kissed him.

No, something wasn't right. She hadn't kissed him. Gunny had managed to get Webb in a car; he was far too wounded to do anything himself. She'd kissed Webb.

Her knuckles turned white with the iron grip she had on her desk, willing herself to stay upright until she knew. She'd kissed Webb instead of Harm. She hadn't expected Webb to survive the drive back to the city. It was a goodbye kiss, but Harm had seen it and Harm would never.. _Oh, god. _

They had destroyed the Stingers, but he'd crashed the plane. She'd… She'd given him hell over it. She was cranky and tired and fed up with cleaning up Webb's messes. So in her struggle for control over her thoughts and anger, she'd lashed out at him. She'd lashed out instead of thanking him and showing gratitude.

Then back at the hotel she'd demanded answers once she found out he'd quit the Navy. Answers her mind couldn't grasp, let alone process. Had she still not managed to thank him? She searched, playing over the parts in her head where she didn't still hear Webb screaming. She didn't thank him. She'd thrown things in his face she had no business throwing.

_Never. _

_We both want to be on top and that is never going to work. _

Tears welled up in her eyes, she felt the faint dull of a headache coming. She'd thrown _never _in his face. And he'd given up everything to come and save her. _Oh, god. _

"No…" She shook her head, trying to shut the scene in her head out. She couldn't have said that. How could she have said that?

If she was the Sundance to his Butch, the Robin to his Batman, what would she ever be without him? They came as a pair. Always. Usually trapped behind a wall of not wanting to be the first to admit there was more than friendship between them, but a pair nonetheless. How many more times did he have to prove himself?

_I never want to lose you. _

_You'll have someone who will always love you. _

_I haven't yet… _

She opened the first button of her blouse, desperate for air, pacing like a caged animal on unsteady legs. He'd come for her. What more could she have possibly wanted?

Harm was terrible with words. He needed to be in control of his emotions all the time, because he had never learned to talk about them. He was everybody's real-life hero, rock, anchor. If Harm didn't know what to do anymore, they were all doomed.

She remembered. She remembered the look on his face, in his eyes, when she'd told him never. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the image; the utter defeat on his face.

She needed to make this right. She needed to tell him…

Her eyes settles on the dark corner of his office. No, not his office, anymore. The Admiral had let him go. And other than her half-hearted "Sir, he saved my life!", she had put up no argument. _No. _

Fear punched her in the gut. If the Admiral had processed his resignation, and he'd walked out of here, where was he going to go? Did this mean she wasn't going to see him again? That she couldn't apologize? Make amends? They'd started back at the beginning…

She clenched her hands together, trying to force down the bile rising in her throat, the fear and pain knotting in her stomach. She couldn't have lost him. There was no way she'd lost him. Because if she had, over a fight in an already stressful situation, over words uttered in anger and resentment that wasn't even directed at him, but at the higher powers that demanded she was in the god forsaken country in the first place, she might as well stop living now.

Harm had lost control. She'd seen it once or twice before: with his father, last year with Bud. He wasn't good at losing control. He preferred to be on top of things, have a handle on every situation. Be larger than life.

She and everybody else always expected him to. When in doubt, find Harm. When in trouble, look at Harm. When in a complete pinch, still look at Harm, because he'd get you out. She always relied on him to have an answer, a possibility, to know another angle.

She'd done it down there, too, when her dispassionate plans had ended because she couldn't think straight. Couldn't see. The world must've spiraled out of control for him, too. And she'd done nothing to make him feel otherwise.

Her legs gave out, finally, and she sank onto the floor, her breathing in gulps, erratic, hot tears in her eyes. The panic at his departure and her hand in it held her in contempt. This was her fault. She should've put up a fight. They always defended each other, no matter what. She should've known he didn't come after just everybody, only the people that he cared for. Only the ones he loved.

"Ma'am?"

Harriet's concerned, tear-stricken face swam into her vision as she gasped for air.

She couldn't say anything, just try and keep breathing. And pray. Pray that she hadn't lost her chance to make it right.

_Please. _


End file.
